Peter Carroll - Author of "Queen of Misfortune"Author Peter Carroll

Peter Carroll has written several short stories, poems and many articles on variable subjects for newspapers and Magazines, his favourite subject being history.

Born in Barnet, England in July 1933 and with a standard education, he was called up into the RAF in 1951 and served five years as a medic.

Since then, until his retirement, he has mainly been involved in accounting and running his own business with his son.

Like a cat with nine lives he has survived an air crash, a lift fall and a serious aortic aneurysm and thanks his Karma faith for that.

He now lives in beautiful Torbay in South Devon, has been married to his wife Daphne for 51 years and has two children and four grandchildren.

Queen Of Misfortune - A Novel by Peter CarrollQUEEN OF MISFORTUNE
A Lady Jane Grey Novel by Peter Carroll

A Love Story of Shakespearean Dimension!

Queen Of Misfortune is the fictional story of Lady Jane Grey as told by her beloved tutor, John Aylmer. At the time of her execution a stranger is recorded to have assisted her when, blind folded, she lost her way upon the scaffold. Was it the same strange who was also recorded to have visited her when she was imprisoned in the Tower? Little is known of this unfortunate girl who was beheaded for treason in the 16th Century. She was only 16. She is omitted from the list of monarchs but was actually queen for nine days. Author Peter Carroll, in his novel, follows John Aylmer’s close relationship with Jane as her tutor and later, as she grows up, her lover. [More...]

Available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Noble, and any other good bookstore.

Doodlebugs & Spitfires - Memories and Short Stories by Peter CarrollDOODLEBUGS & SPITFIRES
Memories and Short Stories by Peter Carroll

“Doodlebugs & Spitfires” is a delightful collection of memories and short stories written by Peter Carroll, the author of “Queen of Misfortune,” in his trademark poetic and profoundly thoughtful style.

Most of his stories, previously published in limited form in local English newspapers and magazines, like “Brave New World”, “The Forties Street Tradesmen”, “Doodlebugs”, or “The Christmas of 43” evolve around his childhood in the Northern part of London during and after World War II. He describes the horrors that came with the V1 flying bombs, nicknamed the “Doodlebugs.” Heroic British pilots in their “Spitfire” airplanes would attempt to divert the flying bombs from the populated areas, sometimes successful, and sometimes not.

Doodlebugs & Spitfires is available at Amazon.Com and its Kindle store, Amazon.co.uk and its Kindle store, Barnes & Noble, and any other good bookstore.

Peter Carroll’s Recent Posts

[See all of Peter Carroll's posts...]

Excerpt from “Queen Of Misfortune”

“What shall I do? Where is it?”

They were almost the last words to be uttered by my sweet, sweet Jane and I could not bear to watch that which was imminent. It was a dark and dismal day and the morning mist hung low over the roof of the Chapel Royal of St. Peter ad Vincula beyond the scaffold site. The air smelt of sweet-smelling herbs befitting the stance of a noble woman, customarily sprinkled upon the boards with a light dressing of sand, moments before the arrival of the execution party. I remember, too, the sweet pungent aroma of freshly sawn wood used to build the scaffold the day before, and the smell of fresh hay strewn into a basket underneath the head block. Jane asked one of her loyal waiting women, Mrs. Tylney, to blindfold her with a handkerchief she had carefully chosen beforehand and held it out to her.

She made her own handkerchiefs, all personally embroidered with images of nature’s gifts to the world-wild plants of all descriptions, animals of the forest and the wonders of the heavens, and always bearing her initials “J G.” She told me it was good for the comfort of the soul, that she could also be mindful of her studies

My mind flashed back to the time I first realized her dilemma, when I discovered a bloody handkerchief left in her desk. When I handed it to her the next day she said absolutely nothing. But her expression was tort as she quickly banished it into her pocket, and made me realize all was not well, later realized through the deep concerns of her nurse, Mrs. Mary Ellen.

Although I understood her request for a blindfold, I wished she had not. It was nothing sadistic, but I wanted to grasp the final moments of life in those beautiful brown but persecuted eyes, entrusting they would gaze my way in hope that I could somehow ease her ghastly predicament. Her fair red tinged hair was neatly tied in a bow at the back. I shuddered at the thought I would never again see those familiar freckles that she hated, this wonderful girl I had hardly loved completely. She looked gaunt, tiny and so fragile standing there alongside her executioner, so pale and so thin. But despite her predicament she appeared as graceful and pretty as ever. I wondered just what was going on in her mind now, for that moment she appeared so cool, so tranquil and that alone was a blessing indeed, if only I could enter it, her soul, to be with her completely. If only it were possible for my head to be severed instead of hers. Her words again kept running through my mind, ”we live to die.” Jane’s strong faith was constant, despite the attempted efforts of Queen Mary Tudor to persuade her to convert to Catholicism. Jane would have none of it. “I will die first!”

Her words again, the wonderful softness of her voice whispering in the sinews of my mind: “I will take your love with me, John, in my soul, my spirit. So fear not when I reach my end, for that is how the Lord would have it I feel certain. We shall meet again, my beloved, and when we do, we shall both be absolutely free to share our love without fear and discrimination and to know it is right because God will know it to be so. I shall always love you, John Aylmer.“

I wanted to tell her all the things I wished I had before. I felt, if I could catch her stare, my feelings for her would instinctually be implanted into her soul, that no matter what happened to her physically now, the soul would sustain. But instead, my eyes were fixed on the large bulky figure of the executioner who stood there looking down clutching the axe beside him. I knew as soon as he lifted the axe I could watch no more. She forgave the executioner and bravely requested that he despatched her quickly. Never shall I forget the time in my life when I stood helplessly watching that terrible murder on Tower Green, for that is precisely what it was, a cold merciless murder. Yet, even now there was some hope in my heart that the stern Queen would pardon her cousin, a girl of such culture and intelligence. Could she live with the thought that she had murdered her own kin? Surely not, indeed, any moment a message would arrive to halt the terrible proceedings … But nothing could stop it now, nigh a miracle.

I prayed in earnest to the Lord, asking to speed her passing, that she may suffer no more, that ultimately the reason why such a gifted human being, who could give the world so much, was called to the other side so early and so abruptly. The reason known only to him but his kingdom would as much be the richer for it, as it was the earth’s sad loss.

The cruel misinformed Mary Tudor would have much to answer for regarding her terrible deed having been ruthlessly persuaded to allow the execution. And in life she would undoubtedly reap the consequences. God rest her soul, for she cannot be of sound mind to have authorized the murder of Jane and Guildford.

Neither of the waiting women could bring themselves to take the handkerchief offered by Jane. Mrs. Ellen, her beloved nurse and governess, was saturated in tears, her hands covering her face, and Mrs. Tylney just stood there as if frozen, like a statue. She could do nothing. John Feckenham, the monk, watched silently clutching his bible. He had attempted to gain a pardon for Jane, in badgering her to simply convert to the “true” faith.

But time and time again, he realized she was adamant and told him that, indeed, to forego her true faith would be worse than any form of punishment the Queen could procure. She will have lived to die in the knowledge that she had betrayed her true conviction. But to convert to another faith in which she did not believe would indeed procure a passing to hell rather than heaven. She could not bear that!

And unlike her contemporaries, she would not accept the stringent conditions in converting to Catholicism.

Sir John Brydges, the Lieutenant of the Tower, whom Jane had befriended, stood in the background, his towering figure rising above the rest. Despite my earlier reservations brought about by Guildford Dudley’s unsavoury remarks regarding Jane and the Lieutenant, this fine gentleman became an ally and a true saviour.

Perchance, Jane would see and recognise me, amidst the small crowd facing the block. I concentrated on her every move, but she did not seem perturbed, she just gazed downward scanning her tiny velvet prayer book cradled in her small hands, which looked so white, protruding from the sleeves of her black dress. Secured between her fingers her open handkerchief fluttered in the gentle breeze, in a flash of light, and when the sun shone through in a brief break of cloud, I saw the image of an angel embroidered thereon, but as quickly as it appeared it was gone again. Her guardian angel? She, unaware of my being there to comfort her, to replenish her soul.

I pleaded to our maker: “Oh! Lord, please let this innocent soul know that I am present. Let our eyes meet for just the second I need.”

But perhaps I was being presumptuous as she showed no outward sign of needing any spiritual guidance, having conducted herself with absolute calm in narrating, with clear precise speech, the 51st Psalm, The Miserere, in its nineteen-verse entirety. She was already at one with her maker.

Visiting her for the last time the day before in the confines of her prison apartments was a deeply moving experience. When I should have been comforting her, she was the one who took it upon herself to ease my depression in the light of her ghastly predicament.

Her words still rung in my head: “They may destroy my timid body but never my soul. The head by this tiny neck will be separated from the rest of me but the soul will remain intact. I look forward to tomorrow, John, that I shall once more, after just sixteen years, be in the hands of our Lord. Please do not cry for me but rejoice that I will have left this cruel world, that, no doubt, we shall meet again, my beloved schoolmaster. That we all live in rehearsal for the passing from this world to another, when our Lord so chooses.”

Then there was the magical touch of her lips upon mine, the kiss that said everything, of her true love for this humble being, and we were instantly immersed with each other when, momentarily, nothing else mattered, we were as one, body and soul combined and whatever happened physically, our souls would remain forever together.

What extraordinary faith she portrayed. She looked radiant; her charisma was infectious. Soon I was sharing her joy. We were in our own world…

My Research for “Queen Of Misfortune” – A Lady Jane Grey Novel – Part 1

My research for “Queen of Misfortune” started during the time my wife and I were spending in Leicester, England, at the invite of my cousin. She had a keen interest in local history and although I had heard of Lady Jane Grey it stopped there, mainly because as a child I had history drummed into me which rather put me off. She said she’d like to take us to Bradgate Park, that we could picnic there and take a walk and look at the ruins of Bradgate House. It sounded interesting so we went along with the idea not having a clue what this casual Sunday afternoon trip would curtail. I certainly didn’t want to show my ignorance in asking my cousin the significance of the ruins.

“You’ve heard of Lady Jane Grey haven’t you, Pete?”

I had, but confessed it stopped there. “Wasn’t she something to do with royalty?” I asked and then ofcourse she explained all to me and the rest is history – literally. [Read the full post...]

Discovering something that took my breath away …

I knew in taking on the task of writing about the life of Lady Jane Grey would not be easy. Other books written of her bring in fictitious characters, I assume to fill the book out and introduce some romance. I wanted just to stick to the actual people who played a part in Jane’s short life. But my first writeseemed to be purely academic and , with records of her so scarce, my first attempt was more of a novelette covering just 207 pages. But to create something which would be more meaningful – and to fulfil my purpose in attempting to give Jane a real mention in the realms of history I needed to somehow discover more about her life. [Read the full post...]

My Research for “Queen Of Misfortune” – A Lady Jane Grey Novel – Part 3

I have been involved in writing a novel about the life of Lady Jane Grey whose life was horribly extinguished when she was just 16, her head cruelly chopped off in the Tower of London 466 years ago, February 12th 1544. I felt she deserves a better place in history – let alone a mention on the monarchs list although she only spent nine days as Queen. Amanda Lindsay who lived opposite Bradgate Park , Leicester (where Jane was brought up) for 20 years feels as I do, that Lady Jane has been forgotten and ignored and should be recognized more thoroughly  historically. [Read the full post...]

 
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